The Scarlet Letter eBook

It was no wonder that they thus questioned one another’s
actual and bodily existence, and even doubted of their
own. So strangely did they meet in the dim wood
that it was like the first encounter in the world
beyond the grave of two spirits who had been intimately
connected in their former life, but now stood coldly
shuddering in mutual dread, as not yet familiar with
their state, nor wonted to the companionship of disembodied
beings. Each a ghost, and awe-stricken at the
other ghost. They were awe-stricken likewise
at themselves, because the crisis flung back to them
their consciousness, and revealed to each heart its
history and experience, as life never does, except
at such breathless epochs. The soul beheld its
features in the mirror of the passing moment.
It was with fear, and tremulously, and, as it were,
by a slow, reluctant necessity, that Arthur Dimmesdale
put forth his hand, chill as death, and touched the
chill hand of Hester Prynne. The grasp, cold
as it was, took away what was dreariest in the interview.
They now felt themselves, at least, inhabitants of
the same sphere.

Without a word more spoken—­neither he nor
she assuming the guidance, but with an unexpressed
consent—­they glided back into the shadow
of the woods whence Hester had emerged, and sat down
on the heap of moss where she and Pearl had before
been sitting. When they found voice to speak,
it was at first only to utter remarks and inquiries
such as any two acquaintances might have made, about
the gloomy sky, the threatening storm, and, next,
the health of each. Thus they went onward, not
boldly, but step by step, into the themes that were
brooding deepest in their hearts. So long estranged
by fate and circumstances, they needed something slight
and casual to run before and throw open the doors
of intercourse, so that their real thoughts might be
led across the threshold.

After awhile, the minister fixed his eyes on Hester
Prynne’s.

“Hester,” said he, “hast thou found
peace?”

She smiled drearily, looking down upon her bosom.

“Hast thou?” she asked.

“None—­nothing but despair!”
he answered. “What else could I look for,
being what I am, and leading such a life as mine?
Were I an atheist—­a man devoid of conscience—­a
wretch with coarse and brutal instincts—­I
might have found peace long ere now. Nay, I never
should have lost it. But, as matters stand with
my soul, whatever of good capacity there originally
was in me, all of God’s gifts that were the
choicest have become the ministers of spiritual torment.
Hester, I am most miserable!”

“The people reverence thee,” said Hester.
“And surely thou workest good among them!
Doth this bring thee no comfort?”